His Girl
by TrailingEducation
Summary: In a more faithful reimagining of the original Norse myths and Marvel universe, Hel rises to her throne through hardship and heartbreak - and becomes a being feared in all the Nine Realms.
1. Brothers in Arms

**His Girl**

It was raining the night Loki was called away.

He recalled the weather was oddly violent at the time; the elements battered against his manor as though it had insulted their ancestors, the windows rain-drenched and dark, and he had heard the doorknocker only faintly as he passed through the foyer towards his living room. Peering out of the side-windows was useless; in the storm it was impossible to make out more than a man's shadowy silhouette.

Loki answered it with a furrowed brow. The light from his foyer washed over his visitor's face, and suddenly he saw the recognisable beard and blue armour, the hammer gripped in a hand as though it was born with it.

"Brother!" he greeted, gesturing Thor inside; "How nice it is to see you!"

The warrior stepped inside the foyer with a grin. It was a beautiful place; huge chandeliers floated overhead without cords, with Asgardian and Giant statues in all four corners. The flagstone floor was swept and clean, and to their left were two staircases leading upstairs, bordering a small statue of three children – a wolf, a serpent, and an infant, almost human child nestled between them. The faces of old and celebrated warriors stared over the house, forever immortalised in paint and plaster. Their dead eyes were vigilant over Loki's home.

"Brother!" the pair hugged and patted each other's backs, sharing a moment of camaraderie only countless battles could have given them; "It's good to see you so well. How is it here in Giantland?"

"The same as it ever was. Angrboða has launched a war against the wolves of Ironwood. She's out with her hunting party trying to catch them off guard."

"She's never fought with the wolves before."

"Since the Allfather bound Fenrir, she's had more hate for free wolves," Loki's eyes darkened and grew a touch more melancholy; "But she doesn't understand. Mischief flows strong through our sons' veins. They must be bound, or else even I fear what would come of the Realms."

Thor offered him a sad smile and put a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder. Fenrir's binding had cost Týr his hand, but after the blind seeress' predictions of death and chaos none would risk having him free. It was the lesser of two evils, but Loki suffered for the decision every day.

"And where is my niece?" he asked to change the subject; "I've not seen her in months. I want to see how she's grown!"

"Oh, how she's taller now! She's come to be so curious; a mischief-maker in her own right."

The prince turned to the foyer and put his hands on his hips. He thought for a moment, then with a snap of his fingers he called out a spell Thor knew all too well – a spell that froze people in place, perfect to stop enemies in their tracks, and perhaps even an overly curious child with a sense of adventure.

"Hel," Loki called; "Come and see your uncle Thor."

Deep in the manor, he heard a little patter of tiny feet hurrying towards them. It grew louder and louder until, finally, a little girl of about two years erupted from the living room, catapulting herself into Thor's legs with a loud thud. To his credit, the God only swayed under the assault.

Hel was a small child, much smaller than her brothers, and resembled more her father than her mother. Her skin was pale and her eyes a brilliant emerald, and her energy was infectious. She was Loki's favoured child, just as Fenrir was Angrboða's.

"Hel!" he cheered as he lifted her from the floor and enveloped her in a hug; "Your father was right! What a troublemaker you are. How goes the magic?"

"It's coming along well. She's able to conjure fireballs now, much to our horror. You should see the market's chicken coop. I owe more chickens than I'm able to get a hold of."

"Ah, but magic is a rare and precious gift. And what better person to teach her control than you, Loki? Don't fret. She'll hone her abilities until she's the greatest in all the Nine Realms!" he set her down on the floor. His brother kneeled down on one knee to look at her.

"A mage's path is a long and dangerous one," Loki cupped his daughter's face and smiled at her, stroking his thumb across her cheek; "Were it not for the opportunities she'll have, I would want differently for her."

The man watched them for a moment, noting Hel's mischievous green eyes and soft smile. She was a silent child, though Loki theorised she could speak – she simply chose not to.

"When will your wife return, brother?" he asked, turning his head to peer at the empty foyer around them.

The trickster's eyes darkened. "Perhaps tonight, perhaps in three. She'll likely be in the tavern after the hunt."

Loki rose to full height and expelled the thunderous look in his eyes. He turned to his brother, and Thor noticed immediately his expression had changed to one of resignation.

"I suppose you've come with news?"

Thor nodded. He seemed sombre, apologetic.

"Of course." Loki looked at his daughter. "Hel, your uncle and I must speak alone. Can I trust you not to cause mischief while we're gone?"

The child was smiling, but Loki could see the devious glimmer in her eyes. He had seen it many times before, and every time he thwarted it before it could cause too much trouble.

"Very well. Stand still, my girl. I'll release this when I return."

He clicked his fingers and, with a snap, Hel was frozen into place. She appeared as a perfect statue. Loki smiled, then led Thor away from the foyer and to his study.

The study was a large room with many bookcases, all of them stuffed with novels, manuals, and a range of spellbooks that Thor thought he would never fully understand. There was a desk in the middle with a comfortable-looking chair behind it that Loki sat in, gesturing for his brother to sit in the chair opposite him. He shook the offer away with a polite smile.

He noticed the pictures on his brother's desk. There were five in all, all put into little handmade frames, and when he looked at them Thor was not surprised to see they were mostly of his children. Hel in her long overcoat standing in the courtyard; Jorgmundr with his fangs bared, curled up and prepared for attack; Fenrir with his coat bristling and his dripping fangs on show; and an infant Hel surrounded by her brothers, an intimate, darling picture that Loki prized as one of his dearest possessions. The fifth was of his wife, shoved behind the others as though he hated to see it.

"A beautiful family," said Thor as he picked up Angrboða's picture.

"She gave me that one. I would have preferred to keep on the mantel in the living room, but she insisted." Loki peered almost disgusted at the thing in his brother's hands.

"It's dusty. Where are your servants?"

"I sent them away. Hel does better when she's alone."

Thor inspected the painting for a moment longer before he put it down and switched to their business.

"The Allfather sent me with this," he pulled a sealed envelope from his armour and handed it over; "I thought the war would fizzle into a stalemate, but no. The Fire Giants are threatening all of the Nine Realms with their weaponry. Peace is not their goal – domination is. The jewels they have – the crystals? They're capable of destruction the likes of which we've never seen before. Even the Warriors Three are nervous for the outcome."

Loki's eyes scanned through the letter as his brother spoke. He had his hand pressed against his mouth, cupping his chin, and his brow furrowed the more he read. His eyes were drawn to one particular excerpt:

 _Though your mother and I are anxious to see our granddaughter again, I ask your presence in Asgard post-haste to discuss the on-going war with Muspelheim. I could use your expertise in the matters of magic and war formations._

 _I understand that Hel is entering a crucial stage in her magic, but the issue cannot wait. The repercussions of our idleness could be dire. Many more will die if we continue to dally._

 _I eagerly await your arrival. Please give Hel our love._

A flutter of annoyance troubled Loki's stomach. For a moment he thought it was anger. Hel's magic was not yet refined, had not yet stabilised, and she for the most part had very precarious control of it. He was tempted to tell Thor he could not leave her. She was at a stage where the energy practically poured out of her veins and caused all sorts of mayhem she had not meant for. But the Fire Giants threatened even Giantland, and their arrival would have threatened her even more than her own power.

"Would I be a consultant or a warrior, should we be forced to attack?" he asked as he set the letter down in front of him. He did not look at Thor as he did so.

"Warrior, of course."

"Would I be required on the front line?"

"As all of our great warriors are, yes."

"Hm." He looked at the door to the foyer. His eyes sparked with an emotion Thor could not quite read. "I may leave Hel without a father."

"Were it to come to that, brother, she would understand and honour your sacrifice."

The trickster did not reply.

"You're an excellent father, Loki – we must look at this as an investment in the future. Our suffering today will give her a safer universe."

In the foyer, the portraits of old warriors stared down and saw, silent and watchful, Hel frozen in place, quiet, alone. She was ignorant of what was about to come, ignorant of the war and all of its implications. Her fate dangled precariously in her father's hands.

His decision would set in motion her terrible rise.


	2. To Bed, Away Young Princess

Loki put Hel to bed soon after his brother had left. She slept soundly, sweetly, but her father sat up in his room for most of the night with slumped shoulders, wondering what the future held for them. The occasional flashes of lightning from his window illuminated his face in a fierce and sharp white, momentarily deepening the shadows around his eyes and nose to make him appear almost skeletal. The trickster hardly noticed it.

The picture of his children was on his nightstand. He had moved it from his study when he waved Thor off, and now he could not take his eyes from it. It reminded him of a simpler time; a happier time. It reminded him of when he could enter the living room and be greeted with the sight of Jorgmundr coiled around Hel's cradle, where she would be sleeping soundly. It reminded him of when he would walk to the bathroom in the middle of the night and stumble across Fenrir sleeping outside her nursery door, ears pricked up for the sound of intruders. It reminded him of all the conspiratorial smiles shared when one of them had broken something.

His sons had told him once that she was not just his daughter, but their sister, and it was their duty as brothers to protect and love her. They excelled in it, defending her from all manner of bullies and dangers in the forest; and she had loved them for it. If not for the seeress' prediction, if not for her telling all of Asgard his sons would bring about the apocalypse, the pair would have made fearsome guards for the child. Loki would never have to fret about leaving her in the house with their servants. When Angrboða went on her hunts, he would not have to fear that it would be weeks before she returned; Fenrir often went out to find her, or she would come back on her own accord to see him. The boys were her children while Hel was his. The picture, however, held true to how much he loved them all.

He laid down to stare at it, his lips slightly parted and his breathing barely audible. Muspelheim – the Fire Giants – would see all the Realms destroyed with their war. Their king Surtur was all but immortal, and it seemed every century he had a new reason why he, the gatekeeper of that fiery realm, should have claim to all the thrones that surrounded him. There was always a new debate, a new battle. He had set his sights finally on Asgard, and the Asgardians had responded to his threats in kind.

He heard a creak behind him. Loki's face hardened as he turned to face it, peering through the darkness of his room at the vague shape of his door.

"Is the tavern closed?" he hissed. The door continued to creak open until, finally, a little face appeared from behind it, and the trickster's attitude softened. "Hel."

The child stepped inside the room and hurried up to her father. He sat up and enveloped her in a hug, smiling into her hair as she laid her head on his chest.

"Why are you awake? It's late. You should be sleeping."

Hel could not answer him. Instead, she stared at the large oak bed with the floral headboard carvings; the regal emerald sheets that matched the wallpaper; and the huge windows with their curtains open, the gold tiebacks holding them in place. A flash of lightning lit up the room. She stared unblinking.

"It's only a storm, my girl. Do you remember the story? Uncle Thor's hammer is making that thunder. He's using Mjolnir to vanquish our enemies. Isn't it beautiful? It's not fearsome, is it?"

The child did not respond for a moment. Then, after a long pause, she nodded. Loki's brow furrowed.

"Is it?"

She nodded again. Hel's eyes bored into him until he felt she was staring into his soul, but he smiled and stroked her hair, soothing her with soft words and promises.

"The lightning will stop. The thunder will pass. The rain will end. The night only lasts so long, Helly." He kissed her temple. "It's never permanent."

There was silence for a long while, broken occasionally by the storm. Loki rested his head against the headboard and stared out at the window. Then, almost without realising it, he started to hum a lullaby.

In some distant part of her mind, Hel knew her father had been called away. She even partly understood that he could have disappeared out of her life forever. She could not sleep for fear that he would vanish in the night. But her fears and concerns were soothed by Loki's lullaby, and resting her head against his chest she let his heartbeat calm her.

"I love you, my girl." Loki said. He expected no reply, content with his daughter's weight in his arms and the smell of her hair, the rhythmic sound of her breath as it evened out to sleep. He had learnt to love her silence.

"I love you too, Daddy."

Her voice startled him. It reminded him of a field lit by silver moonlight; beautifully ethereal, even peaceful. He thought of a dozen luminous moons looking over her cradle while she laid sleeping, wrapped in her swaddling cloth, and unaware of the chaotic universe that was to be her home. She was perfect, and her voice was perfect for her. The trickster held her tightly to him and smiled, wondering how he had come to be so fortunate to have a daughter like Hel.

She fell asleep in his arms, lulled by his heartbeat and lullaby. Loki watched the lightning fork across the sky and heard the thunder chasing after it, rattling his house until he feared for a split second that it would tumble to its foundations. He clutched her tighter. Hel shuffled in her sleep and he eased his fingers with an apologetic frown.

Then, downstairs, he heard the front door open. Loki listened as his wife's footsteps echoed on the staircase, and furrowed his brow when he heard her approaching.


	3. The Nightmare

The sound was enough to rouse her.

Hel wrenched her eyes open to an unbearable noise – an ear-splitting cacophony of screeching voices, horrible half-words shouted and screamed until she could hardly understand them. She found she was no longer in her father's study. She was in a booth of some sort, decorated with blood red drapes and golden frills on the ledge before a large chair, almost a throne. There were tapestries on the walls reciting prayers she did not know. They said her name over and over again, written in a language she had never seen before.

The booth was not like those she had sat in in Asgard during weddings and royal events. It was made of stone and dark on the inside, as if no sun had ever touched it. There were no banners with her family's faces on. The entire place unnerved her, even disturbed her.

The shouting drew her to the ledge. Her slow, tentative steps brought her closer and closer, and she felt for a moment that she was about to step into the edge of an abyss. She came to the edge, and what she saw brought her to a standstill.

She was looking over an arena, styled after the Asgardian coliseums where sometimes she and her father would watch gladiator events. There was a large pit in the centre where warriors would stand off and fight each other, or sometimes even battle an untameable beast, and around it was dozens of rows of seats that rose up to the top of the building. The booth she stood in was one of four, all of them facing opposite each other, but hers was more ornate; a common theme for royalty.

But it was not this that stopped her. It was the demons.

There were thousands of them, all chanting some chant that she could not quite understand, yelling out bloodthirsty slogans and clattering against each other in excitement. Their fervour was inhuman, animal. Their bodies were deformed and misshapen, their movements off. Ears were pointed, were flat against their heads, were missing entirely; lips were grotesquely large or twisted, teeth oversized and fanged; eyes were hard and cruel, searching for bloodshed, searching for something awful, their dirty claws hooking over the corners of the seats in front of them as they howled and screamed. In her horror, the child noticed their seats were made out of sharpened bone.

Hel wanted to flinch from the sight, but a heaviness on her head distracted her. She reached up and felt a cold, metal band. Her fingers caressed it and discovered there were nine tall spikes placed equidistant from each other around it. It dawned on her, amidst fright and confusion, that she was wearing a crown.

She drew her hand down her face. Her skin was cold. It felt like ice to touch, and when she looked down at her hands she realised with horror that her skin had lost what little colour it had. She was no longer pale, but grey. She looked like a corpse.

A trumpet call from somewhere in the crowd snatched her attention. She watched as the demons fell silent, one by one turning to face her booth, thousands of gleaming, malicious eyes falling on her as she stood helpless above them.

Words spilled from her frozen lips without her saying them. "Let the battle begin!"

The coliseum erupted in fighting. Creatures that were not there before suddenly clashed, clattering swords against shields, having limbs torn off and thrown to the side by giant beasts with too many teeth. The demons in the stands reached a fever pitch. They vibrated with excitement, cheering her name over and over again – a sweet mantra turned bloody. Hel's mind flinched where her face remained indifferent. She wanted to find her father, but there was no Loki in that world. There was pain and death, battles and war, and the innocent child with her barely-there smile was the figurehead of it all.

"My queen?"

The girl's head turned. The person talking to her was just that – not a demon nor some other creature, but a person made of flesh and bone, with a face she could attribute to the faces she had seen before. He looked at her, smiling, as he kneeled at her side, and she realised she was suddenly sitting in the chair near the ledge. It was made entirely out of ice.

"Pay attention to the battle," she heard herself say. "Did I let you wander free of the Forest to speak?"

The man shook his obsidian hair. "No, my queen."

"Did I ask for counsel?"

"No, my queen."

"Then don't distract me with idle chatter!" she turned her head and stared at the arena. Blood pooled on the stone floors. She saw many skulls crushed and creatures lying twisted and broken, attempting to crawl to safety. The terror was too much for her to bear, but she was immobile and unable to scream. The person at her side was silent, observant and apparently at peace, and she thought for a moment that perhaps he _was_ a demon that had stolen a human's face.

The sight started to overwhelm her. Bit by bit control was returned to her arms and legs until finally she could move them, and leaping out of her throne she let out a terrible scream that shattered the whole world around her with an ear-splitting roar.

"Hel!" she was still screaming when warm hands caught her, "Hel! What is it?! Stop! Calm down, my girl!"

The fragments of her dream started to transform – the beasts became teddy bears sitting on her wardrobe, the coliseum becoming nothing more than a dollhouse Loki had made himself. Hel found herself lying on the huge mattress of her bed, and the skin on her bones was warm.

Loki hugged her against his chest. "What is it? Another nightmare?" he whispered, so softly that she had to strain her ears to hear him. He had put her to bed soon after Angrboða had returned and fallen asleep beside them, and now he feared he had set nightmares upon her somehow.

But lingering thoughts of death and decay surrounded his child. He could sense it. She shivered in his grip as if she was cold, pushing him away until she was sitting by herself, and looked out at the window to see the moon had started to set. In all of Loki's time with his daughter, he'd never seen her look so lonesome as she did then.

"Hel?"

The moonlight poured in from the window and reflected off of her eyes. She did not react immediately. Then her head slightly turned towards his voice, her bottom lip quivering as she fought for some composure.

"Hel?" he reached out and touched her hand. She stared at him, and in that moment she felt nothing for him. There was no love in her heart, no memories of the times she had sat up waiting for him and he for her, the lessons the pair had shared together so she could control her magic. It was as if she were looking at a stranger's face.

Then the last of her dream left her, and she scampered into the safety of Loki's arms.

"That's it, my girl. You're safe." He soothed as she rested her head on his shoulder. The other hand dug into his shoulder-blade until she could feel bone, and he fought against his grimaces to smile at her. "What did you dream?"

There was a beat of silence. "Monsters."

Loki gritted his teeth. He lifted his hand from Hel's back and flourished his fingers, kissing the crown of her head as he did.

"Mustn't let those monsters hurt my Helly."

A warm light enveloped her. Hel looked up as gold wisps appeared in her father's hand and danced around her, coming closer and closer until they laid themselves on her skin, vanishing in a burst of light. She was silent as the display went on, until finally each wisp had lain and disappeared, apparently never to return.

"My ward," Loki told her with a smile; "So now you'll be protected, even when you sleep. Now, let's find you something to eat. You look hungry."

Loki lifted her from her seat and put her on his hip, moving to her door and opening it to the candlelit hallway. She rested her head on his shoulder. His ward made her feel safer, even at peace.

"There we are. You're safe now, my girl."


	4. Oath

Hel watched from behind a door in the hall as her father packed up his books in his study. She listened as her mother dogged him, telling him that he was needed in the house, that he needed to teach their daughter how to control her magic. Angrboða depended on Loki's expertise to manage their child. She could not help her. She had no idea the journey her daughter would soon embark on.

Hel's mother was a hideous creature – not so much for giants, but to others her figure was monstrous and unnatural. Her face was rather bull-like and her torso short and stout, while her long legs were that of tree trunks. Muscular and cold to the touch, Angrboða's stature belied a hidden gracefulness; she moved like a dancer, as if her feet had never made sound, and she followed her husband with that same elegance as he finished his task.

The child watched, mesmerised, as her father closed the leather straps on his satchel and buckled them before pulling it on his shoulder and patting it against his side. He hardly looked at his wife when he did so.

"I'll return soon. Asgard needs my counsel, nothing more." He double-checked the straps, avoiding his wife's hot glare; "Keep Helly occupied, and if any of my associates should call on the house tell them to leave a message. There's no reason to fret. It will only worry Hel."

The huntress frowned. Hel watched her mother brush her hair over her shoulder and for a moment, she likened it to dried blood.

"I need to care for the Iron Wood. Hel won't enjoy the hunt – she's much too like you, forever reading and scheming. Must we force her into it?"

"No! She's much too small to be chasing after wolves."

"Must you leave, then? To help those who locked our children away? What am I to do with her?"

Loki sighed and looked at his wife. His face was exasperated as she towered over him, her hands on her hips and her brow furrowed, waiting for his reply. For a split second he hated her. He dealt with her quirks enough; her predilection to wear men's clothing; her wolf-like tendencies that had her hunting in the middle of the night; the battles she arranged in their courtyard; and even the over-protectiveness and blind devotion to her favourite of their brood, Fenrir. But he quelled the anger rising in his stomach. She was the mother of his children and he needed to respect her. But he would not allow her to stand in the way of his duties – even if it pained him to leave Hel behind.

"The maids will help. They have a list of what will calm her down during a tantrum. If she has a magic spurt, you must clear the area. The chances are she'll destroy anything in close proximity."

He checked his satchel straps again.

"Go. Take care of our daughter. I'll return before long."

Hel scampered out of the hall as her father approached. She tried to use her concealing magic, but she was not yet skilled enough to complete the spell. Her feet turned invisible, and she hid the rest of herself behind a rich purple curtain to eavesdrop on her parents' conversation. She listened as his footsteps came closer and closer. Angrboða was talking. There was ice in her voice.

"I suppose you'll be seeing Sigyn?"

There was a groan. "This incessant jealousy has to end, Angrboða. You are my wife."

"Yes, I am. Remember, Loki – she may be beautiful, but she's delicate. I have borne you three strong children, including a mage."

"I'll be sure to keep it in mind. Where's my daughter? Hel!"

Loki could sense her in the room. A flicker of pride went off in his heart when he imagined her having turned herself invisible; a rare talent and one that she had shown some skill in, though she was far too young to harness that power. He waited for a moment, then called her name again. Soon enough, her pale face peeked out from behind the curtain.

The trickster smiled. He crouched down while she walked over and drew her into a hug, smiling as he stood. Behind him, Angrboða fixed them with a hard stare. She was harsher than her husband. She condemned all use of magic that allowed Hel to fall into 'bad habits', and often admonished her for her tricks. But she saw her daughter's mood in the way she moved – her unusual meekness – and decided against punishment. There would be time enough in the future to teach her the right path.

"There's my girl," he muttered; "You'll keep the mischief up while I'm gone, won't you?"

He drew away to look at her face. When he saw her wicked smile, he chuckled.

"Excellent. But behave for your mother. I'll come home soon." He pressed a kiss to her forehead and put her down. He straightened his clothes, telling Angrboða where she would find their child's favourite toys, her books, and what would be needed in case she hurt herself with a spell. Then Hel watched as her father moved to the door, calling out one final promise to return, before he opened it and vanished. The pair of them listened as his footsteps faded down the path until they could no longer hear them.

Angrboða turned to her daughter. She looked into her wide eyes and, smiling, brushed her black hair from her eyes. She plucked her runt from the ground, placed her on her hip and nuzzled the top of her head.

"This is where your crown will go, my Hel," she murmured. "Don't fret too much. Your father will return, just as he promised. There's no force in existence that will keep him from you."

Angrboða smiled as Hel's head lolled on her shoulder. Her thoughts turned to Sigyn. She was a beautiful woman and a thoroughbred Asgardian, with chestnut-coloured hair and deep blue eyes that seemed to enchant every man who came near her. She wore long flowing dresses that were stitched and sewn by the finest seamstresses, and for some reason she had taking a liking to Loki even after it came out that he had hidden a wife from them for decades. For a moment, the Giantess saw red. And then she looked down at the sweet child in her arms, Loki's favourite child, and soothed herself with the thought that while Sigyn would birth babes more beautiful, _hers_ would always be more powerful.

Hel stared at her mother. In some ways, her silence was a comfort. She admired the giant's calloused hands and strong legs, and the stomach that had carried her. She admired her hair, her eyes, the faintly-feminine slopes of her manly cheeks and nose, and her eyes that sparked with courage. She laid her head on her muscular shoulder. She smelt of the forest.

Then, a single tear-drop fell from Hel's eyelash.

"Daddy."

"Hush, my child," Angrboða soothed; "There's no reason to cry. The war will end, and then there will be a new era for you to flourish."

Hel gripped her mother's forearm when it came up to stroke her hair. She was enveloped with the scent of the Iron Wood, and half-formed memories appeared in her mind, glimpses of the mists and the trees, a moon forever looming in the distance.

"My darling," Angrboða murmured. "He'll be home soon. Then all these tears will be forgotten."

Hel's eyes grew soft as she stared at the door.

"Fire," she whispered. "Fire in Giantland."


	5. Images

Loki's absence left a noticeable dent in the household's energy. Hel's mother tried to act the part – she brought home food, tried to comfort her during her magical outbursts, even tried to read to her – but, ultimately, the Giantess felt she was more needed elsewhere. Within a few days she had appointed their best nanny as Hel's caretaker and went off into the woods, armed to the teeth with spears. Hel was not especially sad to see her go, though she felt lonely.

The days dragged on. She occupied her time as best she could, but soon resigned herself to sitting at the front door, keeping a silent vigil for her father's return. She would take no food, drink no water, and sat so statue-still that once or twice absent-minded maids had attempted to dust her.

It was a month before Loki's return; an entire month of little to no contact, and when he walked through the door he was deep in a telepathic conversation. Hel jumped up to welcome him, but her father was too focused on someone she could not hear to notice her.

"You misunderstand," he was saying as he walked past his daughter's upstretched arms, "I mustn't take the offering. They will trust me no more than they will Thor or Odin." He continued on towards his study and did not stop to acknowledge his child; his eyes were elsewhere, and his mouth moved in constant dissatisfaction.

The study door shut behind him. Hel lowered her arms, frowning in confusion, before she quickly scampered after him and pressed her ear to the wood. She could hear brief snippets of his conversation.

"No, that's not—Yes, of course I'll be present for that. No, I don't believe—well perhaps if antagonisation wasn't Thor's first reaction—I suppose that argument shall have to suffice."

Loki sat heavily in his chair, muttering a short farewell to his father. He drew his hand across his face with a sigh and tried to empty his mind of field tactics, proposals of advance – all of it. The decision to war was much more precipitous than he realised, and he almost feared the fire giants' strength. Their weapons and armour were supreme quality; he foresaw that many would die.

Rubbing rhythmic circles into his temples, he heard a scuttering outside of his door. The god paused. He tilted his head to see a little shadow underneath his door, and heard a slight breath behind it.

"Hel," he murmured softly to himself with a smile. "Is that you, my girl?"

The breath caught and the shadow stilled. Loki laughed as he stood to open the door.

"Come in. I've missed you so."

Hel exploded into the room before he could reach the door and leapt into his arms. He was almost thrown off his feet as he caught her.

"I missed you!" she told him. Loki kissed the crown of her head and held her tight, as if she would vanish if he let go. Time was no matter to them – but he had felt every second pass without her.

"Have you been good while I've been away?"

She looked up to smile at him. Her father rolled his eyes, though he did not admonish her. Instead, he gave her a good-natured squeeze and threw her into the air.

"You are your father's daughter," he said as she squealed. "Tell me, then – what mischief did you get up to?" He sat down on the study chair and set her down on the floor, propping his head up with his hand.

The child went about telling him her days spent at the door, her occasional study and the tricks she had played on their staff. Her eyes sparked when she did so. There was no hint of Angrboða in her, Loki thought with glee; Hel was entirely his child, from face to demeanour.

 _She will delight the court for years to come,_ he thought with a smile.

"I see you've kept the staff busy. What about your mother? Where is she?"

Hel's tone changed in an instant. Her face darkened and her reply was curt.

"The Iron Wood."

"Ah." He took a steadying breath. "I see. Well, at least that means we can spend some time together before she returns. I'll send the maids away. What do you want for dinner tonight, Hel? Shall we see what books I have in the library for bedtime?"

The girl's expression did not change. She looked up at her father, her eyes sullen, and murmured, "She wasn't here for the nightmares."

"Nightmares? What nightmares, my girl?" Loki lifted her on to his lap and cradled her against him. She did not immediately reply to him, though she became stiff in his arms. "Did you see the monsters again?"

She nodded.

"Those are just dreams – figments of your imagination, no more dangerous than you or I."

"They're _real_."

"Perhaps they seem it. But trust me, my girl, when I say that my ward will protect you. There's no force in the universe that will break it."

"It was war. There _is_ a war."

"There is. But it will not come here, and you will be safe. Forever safe in our home."

The child furrowed her brow and wriggled out of her father's grasp. When her feet touched the floor she turned to him and raised her arms, purple magic spewing from her palms and turning to gold above her.

"They're _real_!" she insisted, and before Loki's eyes gold became constellations, slowly transforming into hideous, monstrous figures. Their faces were contorted and looked like bulls; their legs were those of goats and their horns spewed a thin red mist, their breath hot and palpable. But it was their voice – their collective voice that troubled him most. It sounded too much like a scream.

"Hel," he said sternly as he stood, "That's enough."

"They talk to me!" she insisted. "They call me their queen!"

"Hel!" he commanded. "Enough!"

There was a sudden flash of green, and the images almost melted from existence. Loki had blocked Hel's magic – a power he reserved for only rare occasions, and one that would disappear the more his daughter learnt to control herself.

Hel looked up at him. He could not tell what she was feeling. She seemed almost disappointed.

"Hel," he said, softer this time as he knelt beside her, "I'm sorry, but it's not real. There's no use in paying any more attention to it than a fleeting curiosity."

"It scares me." She told him.

"I know. But that's all it is – a scare. It can't harm you, and it won't. Come here."

He opened his arms. Reluctantly, Hel accepted his hug, comforted by the familiar smell of his clothes and hair. His arms around her felt invincible. She would be safe with him.

"I'll protect you, my girl," he promised, "but for now, why don't we send those maids away and start on dinner, hm?"

She nodded. It was all she could do.


	6. The War at Home

The argument between Loki and Angrboða could be heard throughout the entire manor.

It had roused Hel from her slumber, and as it was so loud she could not help but sit at the end of her bed and listen to it.

"Our daughter was alone! She needed her mother!"

"Do you not hear your own hypocrisy? You have left her just as much as I!"

"I was needed to protect the universe – to protect her! All you do is gallivant around those woods as if you've no responsibility!"

"To protect _her_? Your loyalty has always been with Asgard, and she is no Asgardian!"

"My blood flows through her. She's Asgardian – she's Asgardian royalty, and this war affects her just as much as them!"

"Does it really? Then tell me, why is it not _her_ standing in royal address with Þrúðr? Why is it only Thor's daughter, the blond and beautiful princess, who enjoys the benefits of her grandparents' love? Why not our daughter, the dark and the quiet?"

Loki's dismayed laugh accompanied his words, "Are you trying to deflect from your guilt, Angrboða? A tangent about unfair treatment seems misplaced, does it not?"

"It's only right that you don't see it. After all, they have never treated you as a son. Why would they treat her any differently?"

"Do not start on this."

"I speak my mind. Hel is more powerful, more precocious, but she's not as beautiful and so is ignored."

"My Hel is the most beautiful creature in this world!" Loki shouted, "It is you, Angrboða, who is vile!"

"Is that why you hid us? Is that why you let them lock our sons away?" Angrboða's voice cracked at the mention of her children. It was an old hurt, but one that had never healed correctly.

"Our sons were dangerous."

"Because a blind woman tells it?"

"Enough of this," Hel heard her father snap, "Our daughter needed you and you weren't there. There is not a single maternal bone in your body, and you refuse to accept blame."

"Would you rather I were a lady of the court with little better to do than braid my hair?"

"I would," Loki replied coldly, and there was a brief silence. "Go to the woods. We shall speak when you are ready to accept your part in Hel's nightmares."

"Banishing me from my own home, is that it? What about your part, Loki? Is it only I who has to bare the weight of Hel's burden?"

"No. I too am at fault. But I have accepted this, and I plan to improve."

"Plan to improve," Angrboða laughed, "Then our daughter is doomed."

* * *

Hel's mother was no longer in the manor when the sun rose. The child had suffered a fitful night's sleep, and when she entered her kitchen she was not surprised to see Angrboða's hunting equipment had vanished, along with her favourite cloak.

Loki tried to act as if all was well. Hel saw through it; his pained smile and his overeager cheeriness. He mentioned casually that he would soon be leaving again, and asked if she would wish to join him in Asgard until the war's end.

Hel paused and pushed her breakfast from herself. She turned to her father, a strange, almost curious look in her eyes, and shook her head.

"Oh?" he said in surprise. "Why not?"

"This is home."

"Yes, but we won't be there for long. Enough time for our warriors to defeat Muspelheim."

"You _are_ a warrior."

Loki was caught off guard. Her tone was accusatory, as though she were blaming him for his part to play in the war – the part he played to protect her. He pushed aside his own plate and leaned forward, trying to meet her eye as she turned away from him.

"Only in the strictest sense of the word," he told her, and she could tell by his voice that he was lying, "They won't want me for too much longer. I have the silver tongue your grandfather needs to broker peace."

"Why not uncle Thor?"

"Uncle Thor is too brash. He wants only for battle, and our king knows that battle will lead to bloodshed."

Hel picked at her plate, "But you'll be on the front lines."

"Only if it comes to that. Which is why it's best if you're in Asgard while all this happens; I'll at least know you're close to all the luxuries you desire, and skilled mages should you have need for them."

The child thought for a moment more, picking at her food and pursing her lips, apparently considering his argument. Loki felt hopeful. Muspelheim and their guardian, Surtur, had made him nervous. He had spent his night in the study, researching their weapons and equipment, and had found only death written there.

Hel looked up at him, and for a brief second, he could barely recognise her.

"No," she replied, "I'm staying."

"Hel, I don't—"

The child climbed out of her chair and went in the direction of the living room before he could finish. Loki was left with his trailing sentence, watching as she closed the door and disappeared from sight.

Once he was alone, he sat back in his chair and let out a frustrated, low sigh.

* * *

That evening Loki confined himself to his study, plotting out points on a map that would be strategic for battle. He had not seen Hel for a while – she had been occupying herself in the garden at noon, but at some point after that she had left to some other part of the house. He was not too concerned as she never ventured far, but he resolved to find her for dinner after he was finished.

The map was full of blue and red dots, long thin string attaching place to place, field to battleground. He was tired of it. He was tired of the room around him, with its high bookcases and its singular arched window, and all of the artefacts locked away in glass displays. He had not even bothered lightning the fireplace and instead had worked by candlelight. It was too much effort; he needed to reserve his time solely for his planning.

Odin had sent him another missive that claimed Surtur demanded an audience; and while he was sceptical, the good king wanted to meet him, as if listening to the ravings of a madman would end hostilities without bloodshed.

 _It's clearly a trap,_ Loki thought to himself as he read the page, _But to what end? Would Surtur attack while we're gathered with him? No – he knows it would be suicide. The king's vanguard is legendary. He is no fool._

As he was about to return to his notes, a noise caught his attention. It was faint and thin; a single syllable stretched out, not so much a word as it was a strangled cry. He did not immediately recognise the voice. Then, laboured, he heard it scream:

"Daddy!"

He was on his feet and running up the stairs before she screamed again.

Loki exploded into her room just in time to see Hel's bed fly across the room. The oak wood splintered and shattered to pieces, and all around her flagstone floor he could see books torn in half, the pages caught in some sort of cyclone. The wind was fierce and all around him. He had to fight to see into the room.

Hel was standing at the centre, lying curled up and screaming out his name. Purple energy surrounded her. He realised quickly that it was another magical burst – the most violent she had ever had. The god tried to stop it, tried to mentally block her from her magic, but it was too much and too painful.

"Hel!" he shouted, fighting against the wind to reach her.

"Daddy!" her voice was strained, tired, almost, and so full of terror.

"Hold on!"

Loki forced his way from the door to the part of the wall closest to his daughter, using decorations fixed in place as support. His eyes squinted as dust clouded his vision. He reached out blindly.

He caught Hel's hand. In an instant the wind vanished, and Hel whimpered quietly to herself in the sudden silence.

Loki took a while to gather his bearings. Once he realised that it was safe, he crawled towards his daughter and laid his head beside her, looking at her with a soft smile. Her eyes were wide and confused.

"Nothing to fear, my girl," he chuckled breathlessly, "Just an outburst. It's alright."

"Daddy."

"Shhhh," he stroked her hair with a gentle hand, "It's okay. You're safe. I'm here now."

As soon as he had reassured her, the girl closed her weary eyes and fell quickly asleep.


	7. Resolute

"Hel doesn't want to come to Asgard, Mother. She's comfortable here."

Loki rubbed his thumb and forefinger together as he stared at his mother's image, projected from across the cosmos by magic. Frigga was beautiful – a mature woman with auburn hair and a sculpted face – and he could see as he looked at her that she was at odds with his decision. He would not force Hel to leave her home; he was not even certain he could.

"This is no game, Loki." She reminded him. "For all of her wiles, Hel is a royal of Asgard. She needs protection beyond what Giantland can offer."

"If I take her to Asgard against her will, it will bring more trouble to the palace than this war. Hel is in a very delicate state. I don't doubt that she would lash out at those around her."

"I will teach her how to control her magic. I taught you the same as a boy."

"Mother, you aren't listening to me."

Frigga softened at the sound of her son's frustration. Her face became kinder, and in an instant Loki felt his shoulders ease and his defences fall.

"Forgive me, my son," she said, "I often forget that Hel is not my daughter. I care for her so. I just want to see her protected from Surtur's wrath."

The man sighed, "I've tried to convince her. She insists that this is her home, that she won't be driven out by a madman's war. I'm…not pleased with it, but I can do no more to persuade her. Once her mind is made up, Hel is quite firm."

"Then what will you do? You must return soon."

"The plan stays the same. I'll be at the palace within the week, alone, once I have some defences set up to protect my manor. Hel will remain with as many carers as I can muster before then."

"She will be upset," Frigga said, a note of sadness in her voice. "How I hate this war. It tears families apart and leaves little but devastation in its wake."

"I agree. We can only hope it ends soon, Mother."

"Wars of madmen never end soon."

"I know."

* * *

Hel was different from other children. She knew this, as so often her father had explained to her. Whereas some learnt magic through hard study, she would absorb and wear it as a second skin; it was as integral to her as breathing, and she would sacrifice much in order to wield the power bestowed on her by her blood. Perhaps she would not be as golden and beautiful as Þrúðr, and perhaps she would forever unnerve and unsettle those who tended her, but she would eventually come to be as beloved as her cousin was. It would put her on her father's level when she was older and more developed – and the thought of advising her uncle on matters of the universe brought with it a sense of pride.

She was in her garden, on a bench with one of her minders to the side of her. The flowers were in bloom, and the entire place was a quiet explosion of colour that she often found put her at peace. The paths were made of flagstone and twisted at odd angles, and the manor's windows watched over them like so many soulless eyes. The child reached over and touched a red petal from an oversized rose, smiling that wane smile, her face ghostly in the light.

"Hel," came the soft voice of her father. It pulled her from her idle thoughts and the girl turned to him as he approached, his footsteps soft and quiet on the path. To the maid he commanded, "Leave us," and sat in the spot she vacated, where he offered a gentle and affectionate smile to his daughter. She returned it, though hers was marred with caution. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." She replied. She would elaborate no more, and Loki could see that he would do himself no favours if he were to pry.

"I'm glad," he said. "That was a powerful outburst. To recover from it so quickly is good news."

The child nodded and returned to the petals. He marvelled at the gentle touch she used to caress them, the little wisps of essence her fingertips left behind as she urged them to grow.

"I spoke to your grandmother." He broke the silence between them, and Hel paused. Her hand stilled over the petal she was caressing. "She's disappointed you don't want to join me in Asgard."

"Will Mother go?" she asked. The question caught her father off-guard, and he spluttered out:

"Well, um, no, Hel."

"Why not?"

"Because she…wants to hunt, my girl."

The child resumed what she had been doing. "Mother stays because this is home. I don't want to leave. I won't."

"Hel, I just want—"

"I'm tired. Can I go to my room?"

The child looked at him with those perfect emerald eyes, and Loki conceded defeat. It was his final attempt to persuade her, and she had denied him before he had even come to his main point of argument. As Hel slid from the concrete bench and made her way across the stones towards the manor, her father watched, resigned, while she receded from sight, soon to disappear entirely once a maid had opened the door for her.

Loki knew that the war would be dangerous. He knew it would take him from Giantland for a long time – decades, perhaps, and whether or not he could return for visits would be dependent on the whims of the frontlines, the flow and rhythms of battle. The God was fearful that, should Hel remain steadfast in her decision to remain in their homeland, he would be forced to watch her grow up from afar; that she would develop her skills without him and he would be like a stranger to her.

But he was needed in Asgard, and so he had to take that risk.


End file.
